Sweet Dreams Are Made of This
by SilveryLocks
Summary: Spike can't harm humans now that he's got a chip in his brain. But his thirst for blood is still intact and his desire to defeat his third Slayer as strong as ever. So he's decided to fight her on the only ground that is accessible to him: her mind.
1. Exit Light, Enter Night

Hello there!

This story has been trotting through my mind for a while now. It takes place at the very beginning of season 5, just before Spike realizes the depth of his feelings for Buffy. I have a general idea of where I want it to go, but I'm not sure about the details yet, that's why I played it safe with the rating and warnings.

I don't think I need to mention it but in all cases: the title of the story is of course a reference to **Eurythmics** ' hit.

As always, I feel obligated to warn you that English isn't my first language and the story isn't beta-ed, so sorry in advance for any grammar and/or spelling errors there might be.

NB: If anyone here has been reading my other story, know that I haven't abandoned it. I know it's been a while since I updated but as it happens I have a chapter in progress :-)

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

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 _Chapter 1 notes :  
This takes place between S05E03 The Replacement, and S05E04 Out of My Mind, supposing that this period of time extended over several days._

 _ **And quick warning** : the story starts off being kind of dark so don't be surprised, after all we've got a soulless, not-yet-in-love Spike here._

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 **S** **weet Dreams Are Made of Thi** s

Night is not something to endure until dawn.  
It is an element like wind or fire.  
Darkness is its own kingdom ; it moves to its own laws,  
and many living things dwell in it.  
 _\- Patricia A. McKillip  
_  
*-X-*-X-*-X-*

Wrapped in darkness black-nailed fingers flicked the tarnished Zippo, a flickering flame popped out, and his cupped hands took on a golden glow. The flame was pulled towards the cigarette as he inhaled hungrily and soon smoke trickled out slowly through his nose. Spike snapped the lighter closed, shoved it into his duster's pocket, and leaned back against the coarse bark of the tree that provided his cover. His blue gaze slid up towards the Slayer's window- a bright square of light in the night- and he stood with his cigarette dangling loosely from his lips, waiting.

 _Tonight's the night_. He'd told Harmony. _Tonight's the first step of taking the bitch down_. She'd barely listen to him, had kept on with her pedicure, had half-heartedly offered to help, and hadn't pressed for specifics about his plan when he'd told her he didn't need- and didn't want- her help. Not that he _would've_ given her the details if she'd asked. But anyway she had a 'complete trust in him' and knew that 'even the Slayer was no match for her Spiky.' Huh, what a useless archnemesis she made.

He started puffing out circles of smoke, listening to the quiet pre-bedtime routine taking place inside the Summers' house. He'd eavesdropped on the uncommitted mother-daughters chat, had patiently listened to the clinking of dishes in the kitchen's sink and to the sound of running water in the first-floor bathroom.

He wasn't in a hurry. He knew for a fact that Captain Knob Head was out of the picture for the night. Boys night out with a couple of fellow Initiative blocks who were staying in the nearest town. Or at least, that was what the Slayer had told Joyce. Yeah, damn Frankensteins were probably discussing their next target, some poor unsuspecting demon who'd end up with a metal snippet in his ugly head.

The vampire bristled at the thought of the violating chip in his skull. He could almost feel it, there, amongst the convolutions of his brain, waiting eagerly for his next mistake, so that it could send burning jolts of electricity down his nerves and paralyse him with pain. Spike had endured quite his share of torture under his abusive sire and her 'Daddy's hands and he'd learnt how to master and forget the pain. But the memory of the intense wrath of the chip was enough to dry his mouth out. He couldn't fight against it, couldn't throttle or pummel the cause of his agony. Like a sodding dog, he couldn't take off his shock collar.

The familiar smell of blood drew him out of his ruminations. He lifted his hand at the level of his face and laid surprised eyes on the crescent shapes his own nails had left into his palm. He hadn't realised he'd been so tense. But then again, thinking about the chip and Soldier Boy had a way of making him blow a fuse. Spike remembered how Dickface had strutted into his crypt to ask him about Drac', and then the Slayer, who'd wanted to know about Harm's whereabouts and who'd blown off some steam with a couple of punches to his face. Walzting in and out like they owned the damn place. As if he was a bloody information point.

Well they were in for a surprise. He couldn't wait for the Slayer to quiver in fear at the very mention of his name. Ah, the thought of beads of sweat rolling down her back as she would glance around in anguish during her patrols, terrified that he might attack her out of nowhere… He couldn't wait to become her worst nightmare.

He savoured his victory ahead of time, slipping his hand inside his pocket, not the one which contained his Zippo but the other one, which held the key to success. He admired the tiny silver box he pulled out, tilted it until it caught the light coming from the Slayer's window, brushed his thumb against the highly decorated lid, and after a minute of hesitation he stuck his cigarette between his lips and used both hands to open his Pandora box. He knew he ought not to, for the product was extremely volatile, but he needed to see it again.

And there it was. Calynthia powder.

The vibrant purple matter cradled inside its chalice was glowing with its own internal light. Iridescent and milky, small tendrils of evanescent substance were already trying to escape and the vampire screwed the lid on and placed the box back into the safety of his duster. Finding it had been a real pain, and it had cost him a small fortune. He had no idea where he would find enough kittens to reimburse his debt. But all in good time; he'd find a way, eventually.

Joyce and her youngest daughter had gone to bed, the lights in their rooms were out, and the Slayer was in her own bedroom, shadows dancing on the glass of her window as she wandered about the room, soon about to join her mother and sister in Never Never Land. Spike flicked his cigarette butt down on the ground- adding to the growing pile already sitting in the gra _ss-_ and fished inside his pocket for another one. He had to give her enough time so she would be soundly asleep when he came inside.

One day he'd have to thank Drac' for the idea. His coming in town had been a downright revelation. When he'd learnt the Count had tasted the Slayer's blood and she hadn't even put up a fight… The solution to Spike's troubles had appeared as clear as crystal. Sure he couldn't crack skulls anymore, but that didn't mean he was helpless. After all, Dru had gunned down a Slayer this way, using only her thrall.

Now, Spike had no problem in admitting that he wasn't as good with mindgames as Drusilla or the Count. He'd rather beat down a fighting target than convince a bewitched victim to cut its own veins. No glory in winning if the adversary was defenceless. But with the chip in his head he didn't have much of a choice, he needed to use his highjacked brain instead of his muscles for once. And that was where the Calynthia powder would come in handy.

Knowing about it had been a courtesy of Darla. His great-grandsire had taught Angelus, Drusilla, and Spike himself how to use it during the time they had hung out together. Spike had been a bad pupil, not liking the idea from the beginning, whereas the ponce had adored it. Yet Angelus had never been so gifted, and Spike's Dark Queen had always have a natural spiritual power in her blood. When Grandpa had realised his own child had bested him, that Drusilla possessed abilities beyond his wildest dreams, he'd thrown a tantrum. He'd forbidden Darla and Dru to use it and both vampiresses had grudgingly humoured him, mostly so he would stop grouching all the bloody time. And so had ended the 'Exploration of the Mind by the Fanged Four'. Spike had been glad at the time, for Darla had warned never to fall asleep in somebody else's dreams or you'd risk becoming the dominated instead of the dominant, the prey of the dreamer's uncontrolled imagination. But Dru had done it several times, explaining in her own words how she loved the way it'd make her 'float in space' or 'fly away and be free in the ocean of pretty colours'. So yeah, Spike had been glad when Dru had stopped her little strolls in other people's mind.

So Spike hadn't learnt much, but he'd learnt enough. When he'd finally managed to obtain the powder he'd decided to pratice a bit, using Harmony has a guinea pig. And _Hell_ how he wished he hadn't. He'd always known the girl was shallow, but honest to God her dreams were tackier than the soap operas he sometimes liked to watch. Between being head of the cheerleaders squad and marrying Tom Cruise with great fanfare, the only dream he'd found funny had been the one where she'd been Princess of UnicornLand. Anyways, Harm's mind was most likely easier to invade than the Slayer's, but at least he knew he was still capable of entering someone's dream.

Of course there had been the small matter of actually getting the unaware Slayer to ingest the powder without anybody finding out. But in the end it'd been a great deal easier than Spike had imagined it would be. One day he'd passed by the Summers' house and had stumbled upon a conversation between the Slayer and her mother. Blondie apparently had some trouble sleeping- something about recurring nightmares about the First Slayer- and Joyce had suggested she try Violet Tea before bedtime as it could help relax and procure refreshing sleep _._ It couldn't have been more perfect. Spike the chipped vampire, Spike the inoffensive, Spike the so-harmless-he-didn't-even-deserve-the-Slayer's-attention-anymore had slipped inside the Summers' home where he'd already been invited and had added a little something to the Slayer's new sleep mixture. Et voila. So far all had fallen very nicely into place.

And the Slayer's room had been plunged in darkness for some time now. If he concentrated enough he could hear her heartbeat ; slow, strong, steady. Spike carelessly tossed his cigarette aside. It was time. Warmth pooled in his stomach and his hands slightly trembled with anxious excitement. He took a couple of deep unneeded breaths to steady his nerves and adjusted his duster to sit just right on his shoulders.

With one powerful leap upwards the vampire disappeared into the tree's foliage. Leather quietly brushed against leaves and soon a shadow silently landed on the roof outside the Slayer's bedroom window. Spike glanced inside, carefully crouching to the side so he would remain unseen. Through the slits between the shutters he managed to glimpse her unmoving silhouette on the bed. He turned around to cast a furtive look up and down Revello Drive. Last chance to turn back. If the Slayer didn't have Calynthia powder in her system and if she woke up… He was in for a beating he'd probably never recover from.

Only one way to find out. He slid the small knife he'd brought between the top and bottom panels of the old double-hung window and easily unlocked it, pushed the bottom panel up as quietly as he could, and sneaked inside her room like a common thief. For a moment he stood there, unblinking, unbreathing, utterly still. The room was half lit by streaks of moonlight seeping through the shutters and it was more than enough for his supernatural pair of eyes. She had remained motionless, but he couldn't be more aware of her presence. Her warm pulsing scent was everywhere, blending with the smell of leather and tobacco he'd brought in, creating an intoxicating aroma, filling his nostrils, filling his head. He soon found himself recklessly walking around her bed, stealthy approaching her until he stood right next to her sleeping form.

His palms itched and his mouth watered for the sweet taste of her. How easy it would be… To just grab her, allow her a few punches, grant her just a few more minutes of life so she had the time to realize she was losing… Bodies wrestling, fists colliding, a twist of the pelvis… He would snap her neck like he'd done Nikki's, he would sink his fangs into her carotid like he'd done with Xin, and he would drink deeply, savour this wine of gods, taint her unsoiled sheets with her blood…

His chip tingled threateningly and he sighed, bringing his mind back into focus. His eyes scanned the room for a moment and he noticed the empty mug on her dressing table. He picked it up and raised it to his nose. Herbs, violet,…and the scent of a secret ingredient. A satisfied smile tugged at his lips.

« Good girl, » he murmured, looking back at the sleeping Slayer.

He went back to her side, crouched down so their faces were at the same level, and watched her sleep for a while. Her pink lips were slightly parted, her hand was tucked under her pillow and her blond hair drapped over it. Her chest rose and sank at a slow, steady rythme and Spike pulled the silver box out of his pocket once again. Not taking any chances he unscrewed the lid just a couple of inches away from her face, brought it as close to her as he could without touching her, and watched as she inhaled a plume of purple mist in her sleep. The mystical drug was pulled into her lungs and never came out again. Spike closed the box and slunk up onto his feet.

He settled down in the armchair opposite her bed, placed both arms on the armrests, and let loose the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.

« Now, » he mumbled, « Let's see what Slayers' dreams are made of. »

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 _Thanks for reading :-) Let me know what you think of it if you have a minute._

 _NB : I know that when Darla shows us the Calynthia powder in _Angel _it just looks like a plain purple powder but I wanted to glam it up a bit, hence the mist and everything._

 _Chapter title : Enter Sandman - Metallica_


	2. Mon coeur qui bat

Many thanks to Sue-Slayer and Becci Logan for the reviews. It means a lot guys :-)

Warning: graphic violence in this chapter.

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 _Blackness_ _dissipated like_ _the_ _morning mist_ _of a new day. Blurry dots of white gathered into puddles of light, then into a single bright tunnel which grew larger and larger until it had swallowed the whole world around him. Spike cringed, held up his hand before his face, and braced himself for the burn. He fell to his knees, wondering how the hell he'd gotten himself into this mess, and his last thoughts were for Drusilla and how he wished he could have patched things up with her before he died._

 _So much sunlight, so much brightness…and no pain. Not even a tickle. He blinked in puzzlement, slowly unwound, and his eyes swept over the limitless landscape around him. An ocean of powdery, seashell coloured desert._ _Dune_ _upon_ _dune_ _of_ _unspoiled_ _sand stretching into the distance_ _under a cloudless sky of pure azure_.

The Slayer's head _, a small voice in the back of his mind whispered._ You're in the Slayer's head _. Spike could suddenly sense some very thin thread connecting him to his material body and he mentally threw himself at it and grabbed it with both hands. The thread swelled into into a rope, then into a cable, until he could feel again the armchair supporting him, the wooden armrests under his hands. He unbent when he felt sure his psychic link to his reality was strong enough and he wouldn't get uncontrollably pulled in._

 _He blundered to his feet on the unsteady ground and surveyed his surroundings. He should have expected it. Harmony's dreams had all taken place in darkness, for even in her subconscious the vampiress knew sunlight wasn't really an option for her. The Slayer on the other hand could do as she pleased, and sunlight flooded her dreamscape, the imaginary sand under his_ _Doc Martens_ _reflecting it brillantly as if her mind starved for light._

 _The luminosity he could understand. But why the 'Lawrence of Arabia' parched decor ? Barren sand covered everything as far as he could see in every direction. This dreamscape just seemed desolate and empty… Perhaps the Slayer wasn't dreaming at all. Perhaps she had already entered a stage of deep, dreamless sleep, and this desert was just a mental metaphore for the lack of tangible thoughts in her comatose mind._

 _Disappointment settled in as Spike slowly resigned himself to leave. He was just about to retreat when a far away melody faintly rippled through the fictional air. All his senses on alert, he stood still, straining his ears. It sounded again, this subtle quaint music in the distance. It felt vaguely familiar although it was too distant and distorted to recognize. His previous asumption that this wasn't a dream faded, and Spike_ _trudged up_ _the side of a large sand_ _dune_ _to stop at its crest and scan the_ _horizon_ _with careful scrutiny._

 _There. What looked like an_ _oasis_ _lay far off in the distance, a_ _beacon of deep green_ _in the sea of wavering heat. Spike started towards it, not without a certain amount of perplexity. He'd never found himself in this situation before. As far as he could remember when he'd entered a dream he'd been propelled right into action every time._

 _He took long strides that drove his feet into the sand, but it felt more like the landscape was withdrawing backwards under his boots rather than him actually moving forwards. His eyes squinted in the blazing light but he didn't feel the heat. His duster billowed in the desert breeze but he didn't feel the air. He wasn't an active part of the dream, he tread just as an observer not as a player, and he intended to keep it that way for some time. He wanted to get used to the feeling of being in her mind- and wanted_ her _to get used to his presence in it- before he made his first move. For now it was all watch and learn._

 _Her subconscious was already reacting to him since the sand was giving way and gently creaking with each of his steps, acknowledging his existence in her mind, and the more he walked the fastest the luxuriant haven ahead seem to approach. What had looked like a green dot an instant before was now a line of tall palm trees in the distance. Spike couldn't help but be amazed by the cheer width of her dreamscape. This place was absolutely_ huge _. Harm's dreams had been the size of a peanut compared to this. But again, not so surprising._

 _Spike slowed down when he reached the edge of the oasis. Thick lush grass sprung up from the sand, undulating under the passing wind, leafy bushes were strewn here and there, and some brightly coloured flowers had bloomed amongst the grass. The vegetation was for sure much more abundant than it would have been in a real desert- not that Spike would know, sunblasted deserts not really being his_ _favourite holiday spot._

Quand il me prend dans ses bras, qu'il me parle tout bas, je vois la vie en rose…

 _The same song had kept on playing in the background of the dream and Spike could suddenly remember that time he'd been twirling Drusilla around on the dancefloor of a Parisian cafe by the Seine, trying to convince her that turning Edith Piaf into a vampire so that she would sing for them for ever wasn't such a good idea. He gave a mental sigh, recalling fondly every smallest details of the bloodbath that had followed as Dru had taken her frustration out on the bystanders._ La Vie en rose _, triggered special emotions from him but he wondered what it meant for the Slayer, for her to have brought it into her dream…_

 _Something moved at the edge of his vision and he stilled, vigilant gaze darting to the side. And his eyes widened at the sight next to him._

 _The Slayer's Watcher was swaggering nearby, home-rolled cigarette stuck in his mouth, scruffy white t-shirt and ripped jeans having replaced his usual tight-arse attire. No glasses on, hair in disarray, a plaid shirt casually wrapped around his waist, he was carrying a big sack over his shoulder which contained God knew what._

 _"Well ain't you a sight," slipped from Spike's stupefied lips when the Watcher pranced past him._

 _"'Sup, Spike," the latter greeted him, giving the vampire a quick two-fingers salute before he went on his merry way, towards the center of the oasis._

 _This time Spike's eyes nearly popped out of their sockets. He stared slack-jawed at Giles' receding figure for a second. Well_ _that_ _was unexpected. He then mentally slapped himself for his remark. He was suppose to lay low for this first time, dammit ! No interaction with anyone was the rule if you wanted to go unnoticed. He roused himself while the Watcher was still in sight and took on following him further into the Slayer's dream._

 _He kept a safe distance between himself and the materialisation of Summers' fantansy, and penetrated deeper into the vegetation. This time he was impressed by the wealth of details, of shapes, and colours around him. He brushed his hand against the ringed trunk of the palm trees, against the thick waxy green leaves of the bushes, against the silky-looking petals of the flowers, wishing he could feel their imagined texture… But on the other hand not being able to feel them was a relief since it meant he was still awake and not trapped inside the Slayer's mind._

 _The trees suddenly thinned and seemed to open up,_ _revealing a tantalizing peek of a_ _sandy clearing ahead._ _It seemed he was about to step into paradise itself. A pool a limpid water reflected the sun overhead, its calm surface suddenly rippled by the fleeting touch of a bird's wings, its shore bordered by a carpet of grass that spread outwards and mingled with the thin beige and pink sand around. The place was alive with the sound of nature ; birds' songs, frogs, insects, all blending with the music. The_ _idyllic_ _scenery and ambient sounds were so rich and vivid that Spike wondered whether the Slayer had watched a wildlife documentary before she went to bed._

 _Voices and laughters drifted through the air, and Spike stalked along the tree line, sliding closer to the noise while remaining under cover._

 _A merry group was sitting on the ground in a lazy circle, in the shade of a large tree. Giles' appearance and approach was welcomed by exclamations of delight and contentment. The Watcher sat down among them and Spike quickly recognized the Slayer's usual acolytes : the couple of witches, the carpenter, the ex-vengeance demon… He drew closer still, until the Slayer herself came into sight, lying on the sand, her head resting on Red's lap._

 _All the girls' hair were longer than in reality, either crowns of flowers or headbands sat on their head, and most of them were donning long colourful dresses, except for Summers who wore a lace white tank top tucked into worn-out denim shorts. Harris looked the worst, having as many necklaces dangling from his neck as his girlfriend, and a pair of ridiculously large round sunglasses propped on his nose. The group as a whole looked like a bad copy of a hippie band from the Sixties._

 _Spike crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the nearest palm tree, legs crossed at the ankles as he observed the scene from a distance. He was torn between being amused, baffled, and slightly appalled at the same time. This was certainly_ not _what he'd thought he would find in her dreams. He'd expected a festive vampire beating slash vampire dusting celebration, or a romantic dinner with Soldier Boy… Hell, he'd even expected something university related._

Et dès que je l'aperçois, alors je sens en moi, mon cœur qui bat…

 _Giles distributed the contents of the sack he'd brought and they all began nibbling on what looked like glittering mushrooms. The effects it produced were various, changing their voice temporarily one time, turning their skin green another time, pulling their hair skywards, and so on. They burst out laughing every time, _guffaws__ _of surprise and amusement that seemed to jerk out of them in synchronisation. At some point Giles passed his cigarette around and given the reaction it triggered it became evident that it was in fact a spliff._

 _The vampire couldn't help but roll his eyes. "This isn't even the right song for this," he grumbled under his breath. "Something by Cream, or Clapton'd be bet-"_

 _He abruptly fell silent. For the French lyrics in the air had faded, and Cream's 'Strange Brew' replaced it._

 _Oops._

 _Spike immediately straightened up, took a step back into the cover of the foliage, fidgeting and waiting for the Slayer's reaction. He hadn't meant to do it ! It'd just been a thought, not a suggestion, he hadn't known it would alter the dream… He was even surprised she knew that song._

 _Fortunately for him the transition didn't seem to bother any of them. They kept on smoking, giggling, and getting stoned. Demon-Girl even got up and started _swinging_ to the rhythm of the_ _music, nudging Harris with her bare foot, asking for a partner. But the boy was sprawled on the ground, holding his hand up in the air over his face and staring at it as if it was the first time he was seeing it._

 _Spike surprised himself with a chuckle. He really didn't know what to do with this dream. What was he supposed to learn here, except that the Slayer clearly needed to get wasted pretty soon? He considered getting closer or even joining them, for eavesdropping in dreams seemed harder than in real life. His vampire hearing was no use here, he couldn't make out a single word they were saying, although he doubted they were making much sense anyway._

 _He'd already taken a couple of steps forwards when something stopped him in his tracks._

 _For a moment he had no idea why he'd instinctively balked. There had just been something passing through the air; a vibe, an unpleasant sensation, a sudden mental effluvia percolating through the dream. The vampire's eyes carefully scoured his surrounding, the still-laughing group ahead of him, and the trees on the other side of the clearing. Something moved there. His eyebrows twitched together as he peered between the trees, trying to make out what was hiding there. A shadow, a ghost. Prowling… Lurking…_

 _This attention was called towards the Slayer and her friends again when Demon-Girl suddenly let loose an anxious cry._

 _"Xander!"_

 _Agitation swiftly roused them to their feet and the group surrounded Harris, who was convulsing in his girlfriend's arms._

 _"What's wrong with him?!" Anya shrieked, holding him helplessly as the boy_ _noiselessly_ _choked_ , _his hands and feet jerking at the air,_ _his face taking on a deep shade of_ _purple, his dropped glasses crushed underneath Glinda's feet._

 _Nobody knew the answer. An instantly sobered up Watcher shoved two fingers down Harris' throat but didn't find anything blocking it, he tried Heimliching him a couple of time, and in the end all he could do was place him in recovery position and hope for the best. Eventually the tremors diminished and stopped all together, leaving the boy stiff and unresponsive on the ground, his open eyes glazed over and his chest failing to rise anymore._

 _An explosion of distressed laments and exclamations of incomprehension erupted from the gang, topped by Anya's long wail of grief. Summers fumbled backwards, horror-struck, while Spike watched in stunned silence as her dream slowly turned into a nightmare._

 _Tara's legs gave way and she sagged onto the sand, a seizure rattling her bones. Willow rushed to her side, fear draining all the blood from her face. "Tara! Buffy, what's happening?! Do something!"_

 _But the Slayer was just as panicked as she was, and she stood powerless, her mind contracting with anguish around them._

 _Spike's gaze flicked towards the line of trees ahead, for he'd perceived movement again. Through openings in the foliage he caught a glimpse of expressionless pitch_ - _black eyes, dispassionately contemplating the scene unraveling in the clearing. All of a sudden a strong wind rose, gusted through the vegetation, and in a stir of green leaves the eyes were gone._

 _Summers' friends dropped like flies around her, one after the other, quivering on the sand. Giles, Anya… Red was the last one standing and she collapsed into her best friend's embrace, spasms shaking her body as well._

 _"Will!" the Slayer sobbed, her breath hitching as her fingers fisted in her friend's dress to hold her close, tears rolling down her cheeks and dropping on the witch's convulsed face. "Oh God, no," she cried, rocking Willow's lifeless body back and forth and looking up for help that wouldn't come. "No…"  
_

 _The utter despair that laced her voice was so palpable that Spike couldn't help but feel for her, emotion unexpectedly tightening his throat… What the hell was wrong with him?! He should be dancing a bloody victory cancan all over the place, instead of getting all misty-eyed over something that wasn't even real !_

 _But he hadn't caused any of this, he was just a passive spectator, witnessing_ _the gradual_ _crumbling of the dream he'd stepped into. The plants withered and died around him_ _while_ _the flowers_ _seemed to dissolve into thin air. The pond of water dried up, sucked into the sand underneath. Everything decomposed, including the bodies surrounding the Slayer. Their skin disintegrated into dust, instantly swept away by the holwing wind which had long drowned the music that had been playing._

 _Soon Spike stood completely exposed, all the trees around him vaporized, but the Slayer was too upset to notice his presence. She was still kneeling, dust escaping through the slits between her fingers and disappearing in the sandstorm raging all around. The clearing had morphed into the eye of a hurricane, surrounded by a ring of towering eyewall which had replaced the line of trees. The vampire stood right on the edge of the eye. He squinted against the high wind and held up his hand to shield his face from the swirling sand. His duster flapped nearly horizontally next to him and he had to concentrate, had to mentally root himself to the ground so he wasn't ripped away._

 _He pondered pulling out of the nightmare, but a_ _silhouette detached_ _itself from the eyewall opposite him and he reconsidered. Black eyes seemingly winked into existence in the sand-loaded wind and then shadows coalesced into the form of a single being. Spike still wasn't sure whether it was human or not, until a female face finally emerged from the storm._

 _The white rags she wore barely covered her ebony skin, she was all muscles and animality, moving like a hunting predator along the edge of the sandstorm. Onyx eyes were set deep in her war-painted face, a heavy mass of dreadlocks hung over her shoulders, and Spike instantaneously understood what she was._

 _A Slayer. Another one._

 _She was different. Primal, ominous,…sinister. Sharply contrasting with Miss 'Prim and Proper' Buffy Summers. But there was no mistaking. If William the Bloody excelled in something, it was in knowing Slayers._

 _The creature didn't grant Spike a single glance- assuming she had noticed his presence at all- and went straight for the crying blond woman kneeling in the sand. Half-walking, half-crawling, her body seemed to move in a dislocated fashion that made the vampire's guts twist with unease_.

 _Summers wasn't nearly as spooked by the vision as he was, and when she looked up into the other Slayer's eyes her voice was laden with hate and anger. "You," she hissed, pushing herself up on her feet, heat and fury glowing off her. "Why won't you leave me alone?!"  
_

 _She didn't wait for an answer as she surged towards the Dark Slayer and the latter lunged forwards to meet her with a blood-chilling war cry. Their bodies collided violently, rolling over a few times on the sand, and they started wrestling before Spike's astonished eyes. Summers fired a complexe series of punches and kicks, most of them easily blocked by her adversary, whereas the Dark Slayer's way of fighting was much more primitive but fiercely efficient._

 _Summers clearly didn't have the upper hand. Blind rage was making her sloppy and vulnerable, her moves lacked their usual finesse and accuracy. At some point she extracted herself from the fight so she could catch her breath, escaping by going into a backflip. But her feet had barely touched the ground when her opponent was on her again. She never saw coming the round kick that solidly landed on her jaw. Her head whipped sideways, the momentum of the kick knocking her to her knees. Propped on her hands she spat out a mouthful of dust and blood before discreetly burying her right fingers into the sand._

 _The Dark Slayer grabbed her by her blond hair and yanked her head back to force her to look up, but she let go with a screech and took a couple of steps back when Summers seized a fistful of_ _sand_ _and dexterously_ _flung_ _it full_ _into_ _her enemy's face_.

 _The Blond Slayer sprang to her feet again and delivered a shower of powerful blows upon her adversary. The latter seemed in difficulty for a minute, however it didn't last. Right after another punch hit home her black_ _eyes glinted_ _with_ _a light_ _obviously not quite sane, a loud roar rose from her throat, and she just went bersek. She lashed out, unleashing a strength and speed which had clearly been in store until now. And Spike's Slayer was being massacred._

 _Summers retreated until she teetered a few feet away from the eyewall, bruised, battered and exhausted. With just one front kick the Dark Slayer could have sent her into the whirling winds and she would have been swallowed up by the crackling storm. Instead dark-skinned Xena seized the blond Slayer, raised her limp form high over her head and threw her on the other side of the clearing with tremendous force. Summer's body violently hit the ground, producing a loud cracking sound which was immediately followed by a scream._

 _Spike winced, watching the Slayer curl up, cradling her dislocated shoulder, her face twisted with pain. Her unrelenting_ _assailant was closing the distance between them again, terminator-like, apparently driven by nothing but the kill. Survival instinct prompted the_ _faltering blond to her feet and she recoiled, holding her left elbow in her right hand._

 _"What do you want from me?!" she exclaimed with a wobbling voice._

 _The question seemed to surprise the Dark Slayer. She stopped advancing and slightly tilted her head to the side as she stared unblinking at her enemy. For a long moment she did nothing but keep her eyes fixed on Summers' face and when she finally moved it was to bare her teeth and speak with a voice that seemed to come from beyond the grave._

 _"Everything."_

 _The whispered word ghosted through the dream and_ _slithered_ _down Spike's spine_ _to settle low in_ _his_ _gut._

 _She then bolted fowards without warning. Summers staggered back, tripped over her own feet, and would have fallen if the Dark Slayer hadn't caught up with her when she had._

 _A strangled gurgle resounded in Spike's ears and he later realised that the noise had come from him, produced by his own throat, as monumental shock crashed down on him. He wasn't sure if it had been an exclamation of surprise, or perhaps an aborted attempt to warn her. But in the end he could only gawk while Summers stood with her adversary's hand embedded in her chest._

 _The victorious Slayer jerked her hand back, ripping the defeated one's still beating heart out of her ribcage in the process. The organ pulsed and glistened like an overripe fruit in the Dark Slayer's hand, dark blood running in rivulets down her forearm, and Summers first dropped to her knees, then slumped onto the ground all together._

 _Spike watched, aghast, as the heart caught fire, the flames brushing against the Dark Slayer's skin without harming her. She stood triumphantly, towering over her enemy's body, and slowly swiveled her head to the side. Her eyes suddenly bore into Spike's ones, the dark pool of her irises spreading out until there was no white left, and he could suddenly feel her inside his head, an ice cold, slithering darkness creeping inside him, looking for something to hold on to…_

*-X-*-X-*-X-*

Spike came back to reality with a gasp. He bent forwards in the armchair, nails scratching the wood under his hands, blackness covering everything around him. Sweet blackness, safe darkness.

He struggled to get a grip on his emotions while his ears still rang with the whistling wind. When silence settled in it was to be disturbed by the Slayer's panting. She was writhing in her sleep, taking in quick but shallow gulps of air, locks of blond hair sticking to her damp face.

You don't die in dreams. Because every time you do you wake up. The Slayer couldn't wake up. The Calynthia powder wouldn't let her. She was stuck in there, with a hole in her chest.

Spike pushed himself up from his seat and started pacing the room agitatedly.

We wanted to shake her awake and shout 'what the fuck was that ?!' to her face. Was this the First Slayer she had been talking about ? The one she'd been having nightmares about ?! Bloody hell, that hadn't been a nightmare, it'd been a _downright horror movie_. He could still see the creature's bottomless black eyes staring into his very core- that vision had been tattooed on his retinas for good- and he couldn't repress the shiver that crawled down his back. He rubbed his hands over his face and compelled himself to calm down.

A slight commotion outside reached his ears, a welcome distraction from his troubled thoughts. Spike went to the Slayer's window and watched her neighbour opposite the street take out the trash and leave it on the pavement. This one was quite the early bird… Though the vampire noticed then that the sky had started lightening with the coming dawn, having turned from black to a bluish purple. His eyes flicked to the alarm clock resting on the night stand. A quarted to seven. He felt as if he'd arrived here not an hour ago, but time ran differently in dreams. He'd have to be watchful of this the next time he came.

He couldn't risk lingering in here when the sun was already rearing its ugly head. It was time for him to go. He'd placed his hands on the window panel when a quiet whimper escaped the sleeping Slayer behind him. Her heart beat off rhythm for a few seconds.

Spike let out a sigh.

 _Leave. Leave, you gormless idiot!_

He didn't leave. Half his brain wondered what was wrong with him when he turned around instead. The Slayer was still squirming, gritting her teeth, making suffocating noises in her sleep. He probably wouldn't have minded…if he'd been the one choking the life out of her. But it wasn't him who'd done this to her. He wanted her to be afraid of _him_ , not of a freaky, distant ancestor in her head. He hadn't planned on the competition. And anyways leaving her to die from a heart attack in her sleep didn't feel right. Not that he cared about right.

When Spike carefully sat down next to her she was trashing around under her sheet.

"Slayer," he murmured, half expecting her to wake up and greet him with a punch in the nose any second. "Slayer," he repeated, frustrated when it didn't have any effect. The Calynthia powder was supposed to make her more suggestible…

Eventually he placed a calming hand on her shoulder.

"Buffy."

This time she reacted. Her shifting around slightly dwindled and her heartbeat steadied.

 _Just imagine it's Dru having a nightmare_.

He imperceptibly licked his lip and leaned closer to her. "It's alright, pet," he susurrated. "It's not real, you're having a nightmare. It's alright…"

He lulled her into a more peaceful sleep, speaking softly to her, brushing his knuckles up and down the warm, bare skin of her arm. Her breathing eventually slowed and evened out, her body uncoiled, her limbs loosened up. He relaxed right after she did, as if the tension leaving her body prompted his own taut nerves to unbend.

He listened to her breathing for a while, gazed at her now-serene features. She was a delicate-looking little thing when she slept ; when she couldn't use her whipping tongue to provoke him into fury.

The change of lighting in the room suddenly caught his attention. Spike hurried to his feet and rushed to the window.

"Bollocks."

Tints of yellows and blues in the sky, the mellow haze of sunrise casting long shadows down the street.

He cast a last glance over his shoulder. "Till next time, Slayer," he muttered darkly. And this time he wouldn't be so amiable, First Slayer or not.

He pulled his duster over his head and braced himself for the burn.

*-X-*-X-*-X-*

The superficial blisters on his hands had nearly finished healing when Spike pushed open the heavy door that connected the sewers with his crypt's underground. He stepped into the cavernous bedroom and closed the door behind him, wrickling his nose at the foul smell that swooshed in when the door churned up the air.

A high-pitched "Bunny?" welcomed him home, causing him to roll his eyes and sigh. He ignored it and headed for the table he'd placed in a corner, where he knew a couple of spare cigarette packs were stacked. He'd smoked his last one on his way to his crypt.

"Oh, Spike, I'm so glad you're home," Harmony said, straigthening into a kneeling posture on the bed when he walked past it. She'd slipped into the pink negligee which usually managed to draw his attention, but this time he really couldn't care less. "Ew, what did you do ? You smell like grilled pork."

"Sod off," he snapped, dropping his duster on the nearest chair.

"I just had the worst nightmare ever," she exclaimed plaintively, oblivious to his bad mood.

"You don't say," Spike quietly grumbled in return, rummaging through all the cheap make-up crap she'd scattered all over the table.

"I was back in highschool," she started, although he hadn't asked, "walking down the corridors, when I realised I was completely naked in front of everyone! Oh my God, it was so embarassing. They were all laughing at me, Cordy laughing the loudest and…"

Having found what he'd been looking for, Spike climbed up the ladder that led into the crypt itself, Harm's voice chasing after him. "Buffy was there too…"

He slumped into the recliner with a drawn-out sigh, placing a cigarette between his lips and lighting his Zippo with a quick scrub against denim-clad thigh _._

"Spike?" Harm called from downstairs, "Can you hear me? I'm telling you, it was horrible!"

"Terrifying," he absently mumbled around his cigarette, hypnotized by his lighter's flame, unable to erase from his mind the sight of Buffy Summers' burning heart

* * *

 _Chapter title : La Vie en rose - Edith Piaf ('Mon coeur qui bat' means 'my heart beating', and of course putting a song by Piaf in a dream is a reference to Inception ;-) )_

 _Thanks for reading, please tell me what you think!_


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